The Twelve Don'ts Of Christmas
We’re into December now. There’s just over three weeks to go. Everywhere I go, people are counting down the days, bemoaning how little time they have, how far behind they are, how much they have on. I am hearing “can you believe it’s December already” on repeat, as if the month that always follows November has come as a sudden surprise. I know a lot of frazzled mums. There is a fear in their eyes, a wobble in their voices. After the reprieve of last year, the busyness of this year feels even more unwelcomingly intense.
I was once a mum of young children. I remember the exhaustion well, how it became impossible to actually go to work due to the endless calendar of activities - concerts, plays, fetes, fairs. I still have an overwhelming gratitude for those other much more zealous mothers who organised the teacher presents so I only needed to transfer a fiver1 quickly via PayPal. Looking back, there’s a reason why I always had a stinking cold by the 27th. It seems we’re supposed to make it wondrous and magical for our offspring by killing ourselves.
I am not sure what happened to me over the years but I have gradually downsized my festive preparations to virtually nothing. Perhaps it was the burnout of 2015, the whisky and Ibuprofen-fuelled New Year due to an unrelenting gum infection that made me realise the world’s idea of celebrating Christmas wasn’t good for my immune system. Perhaps it’s my cynicism and knowing the perfect Christmas doesn’t exist in spite of how much we spend on it. Realistically, it could just be laziness. Having lunch with a friend recently, there was a look of sheer horror on her face when I said I hadn’t started my Christmas shopping yet because I don’t do any.
Instead of a to-do list, I have my twelve don’ts of Christmas.
Matching Pyjamas - enough said.
Thoughtful Gifts - there’s a reason why a lot of unwanted items are listed on eBay on Boxing Day. If I haven’t either specifically requested it or bought it myself, I won’t find it thoughtful and I daresay neither will most others. Money, vouchers or a bottle2 are always appreciated.
Cooking - that stress of keeping meat tender and vegetables warm whilst simultaneously straining juices to make gravy is beyond my capacity. When I bought my first house, I excitedly invited my parents and sister to come to me for dinner. There was turkey, trimmings, bread sauce. I even hand-rolled my own truffles. Why was I trying to impress people I had lived with for the last twenty years? After that, I set out to find a husband who could take on the role of head chef for me.
Traditions - maybe a bit extreme - “but we always do it this way” is a subtle form of bullying. There are mothers-in-law out there3 who believe no-one will ever boil a gammon like they do. Or that Christmas isn’t Christmas without white Shloer.
Peeling Brussels Sprouts - as a child, this became my annual job. Now I realise I was the only one who ate them. I had choices and I didn’t even know.
A Festive Table - don’t get me wrong, I love those resplendent tables, laden with candles, napkins, fir cones and dried oranges on Instagram. They are beautiful to look at. I just wonder where the food goes. I don’t even own a tablecloth.
Wrapping - repeatedly finding the end of the cellotape takes such a long time so I use bags. In addition, see number 2 above, where only envelopes are required.
Elf on the Shelf - to threaten children into behaving via the antics of this creepy little creature seems morally wrong. Has anyone researched how this affects them in later life? Although, please do not be offended if you are putting your elf inside the television tonight.
Anything that involves dried fruit or a mixer.
Lists - these are solely designed to keep you awake and make you feel like you have failed.
Crackers - so environmentally unfriendly. If you can’t put yourself first this Christmas, at least, put the planet first.
Guests - in addition to the multiple other chores, no-one should ever have to change bedclothes and give up their en-suite.
By now, you will be thinking how miserable must her house be. Listen to how sanctimonious and untainted by commercialism she is. So, I’ll not ram it any further down throats by focusing on embracing the true meaning of Christmas. Yet, it so often gets lost in the frenzy and sometimes we do need to remind ourselves of what matters most. Where so many endure hopelessness, hatred, sorrow and conflict, prioritising hope, love, joy and peace isn’t such a bad thing. After all, isn’t this the message of every single Christmas film.
I will never tire of the nativity story, the smell of a real Christmas tree, the Santa tracker, the twinkling beauty of fairy lights, holly and berries, hanging up stockings by the window. I am filled up by carols and choirs, the organ bashing out Hark The Herald Angels Sing and O Holy Night sung accapella against the backdrop of a vast cathedral, all the music on my Christmas playlist. I go misty-eyed with nostalgia when I reminisce about Christmases past, when I think about how much effort went into marking up the Radio Times. And I really wish we could get that Noel Edmonds programme back on Christmas mornings, to put everything into perspective!
When Christmas was supposedly cancelled in 2020, it allowed me to think about what I didn’t miss, the important things I still had - friends and family, loved ones. Let’s not bring all the stress back this year just because we can. Maybe we could simply aim to gather and enjoy each other’s company, perhaps find hope, love, joy and peace together. After the hardest of years, is that not what we need most?
A tenner if I liked them.
N.B. no more Gordon’s gin please, other options are available.
Not mine, obviously!